


find yourself an oblivious man

by Nyxierose



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 09:53:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6849592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxierose/pseuds/Nyxierose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wonders if maybe they’re actually fixing each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	find yourself an oblivious man

**Author's Note:**

> Title and vague inspo from “Miles & Miles” by Matthew Mayfield. Also posted on my tumblr.

Technically, she meets him on one of the worst days of her life.

Abigail Griffin is not the sort of woman who has a midlife crisis - at least, not until she _does_. Not until all of the bullshit is suddenly too much, not until everything in her fights back and she realizes she can only take so much. She is forty-six years old and should've learned her limits decades ago, but no, she is finding them now.

She is only one woman, and she cannot dismantle the bureaucratic clusterfuck that is the top hospital system in the city all on her own, and so she does the next best thing and quits.

There is nothing left for her here, she says in the letter she prints a dozen copies of and hand-delivers before any relevant person will check their mailboxes. She is three years widowed, her daughter is off at college (and currently not speaking to her but Abby is eighty-seven percent sure that's just a temporary problem), and she wants new opportunities. She tells more lies in that letter than she has said with her mouth over the last four years, covers her ass as much as she can, but she knows someone will see right through it. She has never been a particularly subtle person, and people here know her too well. Yet another reason to run.

After she files her resignation, effective immediately, Abby gathers her few important possessions into a tote-bag and takes one last walk through the hospital complex. She's not going to miss this place, but she needs to be reminded of every possible reason why she's running.

Along the way, she finds something resonant.

She's not sure what wing she's in by this point - she's doing a slow spiral, end destination the top floor of the parking garage but she's not too concerned with how long it takes her to get there - but she walks past a waiting area and something catches her eye. Some _one_ , really. She's not sure why it happens, what about the man makes her stop moving, but there's something in him that her soul knows by instinct. Something in his tired eyes, something all too similar to the places of her own heart, something _real_.

"Are you alright?" she asks, approaching. There is no harm in giving comfort, she supposes, not to a random who'll never cross her path again.

"Fine," the man replies. "For now."

"I'm so-"

"I'm not here for myself," he murmurs.

Someone else, then. He wears no ring - she glances at his hands, entwined on his lap, tries not to stare and wonder - but that doesn't mean much nowadays. Best not to ask.

"Good luck," Abby says. She should be more comforting, she tells herself, but she's not sure _how_ with so little detail.

"Thank you." He looks up at her then, stares into her eyes for almost too long. "You're kind."

"Don't say that. You don't know me."

"Don't have to. No offense, but people who look like hell aren't normally warm and cuddly."

Her lips curve into a soft smile. "Guess you're having an even worse day than I am."

"Doubt it."

"Thank you."

She decides to leave, walks away before she can end up dumping her entire life's tragedies on some random who's definitely dealing with enough shit as it is. She'll never see him again, but for a moment, she couldn't help but wonder.

Not all humans are assholes, Abby reminds herself as she slips into her car ten minutes later. Most are, but there are still good ones out there. Maybe someday she'll be one of them again.

\--------

She restarts her life, rises from her ashes and re-becomes. She moves to the outer suburbs, somewhere she knows absolutely no one, and takes a position at a clinic with few responsibilities and good people. There are a few awkward questions at first, but she ignores enough of them enough times that eventually her new coworkers learn not to ask.

What they know about Abby is this - she was married once, she has a grown daughter, and she is fighting a sadness that has nothing to do with either of those personal details.

She goes about this new life for a few months, just long enough to find a routine, and then the universe throws her a curveball. The other doctor is on vacation, so she's looking after his patients too and the last one of the day is a woman with mid-stage Alzheimer's. And along for the ride, a middle-aged son who looks all too familiar.

It takes Abby a frighteningly long time to place why she knows his face. Small-town life is still new for her and she's pretty sure she's at least _seen_ everyone who lives within sensible driving distance, but this one is a separate animal and then all of a sudden it hits her.

God, she _hates_ the smallness of the world sometimes.

He doesn't let on, probably doesn't remember her, but she remembers enough. The one bright spot of that painful day - hell, the last time she remembers feeling _human_ \- is a hard thing to forget when it's literally staring her right in the face. Everything she saw three months ago makes so much more sense in context, his worry and softness and willingness to believe. He asks questions but stands back, perfectly plays the role of adult child turned caregiver, and Abby is almost impressed by it all. Compared to a lot of what she's seen, this situation is at least under control.

"You're new out here," he says as the appointment ends, not really a question but still granting her space if she wants it.

"Needed to breathe," Abby replies, and it's the most explanation she's given anyone yet.

"Call me if you ever need anything," he says, handing her a folded piece of paper.

"I'm not sure I can-"

"Don't. If I heard right, you're up to your ears in home repairs."

"People are talking about me?" Abby asks, not sure how she's supposed to feel about that.

"It's quiet out here," he shrugs. "Nothing malicious, I promise. It'll die down."

"You're serious about the repair thing?"

"That house was on the market almost two years for _reasons_. Everyone knows that part."

"I mean… you're really offering to help me out?"

"If you think you've got it under control, good on you, but… yes, I am. If you want."

"Why?"

"Because whatever your deal is, whatever you're running from, it's not enough to mask your heart." He takes a deep breath, shifts his body slightly. "And because I'm trying to be less of an ass and you feel like a beginning."

"Thank you."

\--------

As she expects when she finally opens it up an hour later, the paper bears a name and a phone number. The man's handwriting is borderline illegible, but she figures it out and saves the info in her phone for when she actually needs it. At the time, she's pretty sure she never will.

(She needs to stop thinking like that. She always gets proven wrong.)

\--------

Another month or so later, Abby gets desperate enough to reach out, and the rationale is fittingly ridiculous. There's a dead animal in her basement, she's not sure on any details beyond that and she doesn't _want_ to know because she's slightly convinced it might be the neighbors' cat, and she's made a point of having no friends out here. Thus, she makes the phone call.

"Marcus?"

"What happened?" He sounds worried, and she can't help but wonder if that's his default state of being.

"I know this is probably the strangest request of your life, but how do you feel about retrieving a dead cat from my furnace room?"

He laughs. "Is that a euphemism for something?"

"Well, I'm not actually sure it's a _cat_ , but… no? There's definitely something dead down there and I don't-"

"I'll be right over."

She expects nothing, but twenty minutes later a green truck pulls into her driveway and she doesn't remember the last time she was this thrilled to see a specific person. (She really needs to get out more, she thinks.)

"Are you sure it's a dead thing?" he says in greeting, making worried eyes at her.

"Trust me. It's a dead thing. I'm just hoping it's not a dead _housepet_."

They're both quiet as she finds a trashbag and gloves - the least she can do is provide proper equipment - and she stands at the top of the stairs until he returns with knotted baggie in hand.

"Please tell me-"

"Raccoon," he says. "Same size as a cat, I can get why you'd get them-"

"I can't deal with things like that. Memories. Bad."

He drops the bag at his feet and pulls her into his arms, and she'd have feelings about that kind of gesture from someone she barely knows except that this feels so _right_. She rests her head on his shoulder, breathes him in and feels her heartbeat even out, clings even though she knows she shouldn't. Maybe he's the same kind of broken that she is.

"I get it," he murmurs, and it hits her just how close his mouth is to her skin. "Triggers are the worst."

"It's not… it's not that, exactly. I just… I smell a dead thing and I remember having to identify my husband's body and…"

Marcus's arms tighten around her. "That's terrible."

"It's been almost four years. I should be over it."

"Been thirty for me. Doesn't stop the flashbacks from happening."

"That is not reassuring."

"You're not alone, Abby. That's all I mean to say."

"You don't-"

"It's okay. It's okay."

She closes her eyes, lets herself feel things, and moves forward.

\--------

Their paths cross a few times after that - exchanged glances at the clinic, brief conversations while out shopping, little things. Abby resists the urge to ask for outside help or information, but she suspects that people are already beginning to figure out that something is building between the two of them. Part of her hates the idea - she is so much more than just someone's lover, she wants to scream, and she's not even _that_ right now and probably won't be for a good year! - but if it had to happen, she supposes it could happen so much worse. At least this one's appropriately delicate with her. At least this one gives a damn.

(And fine, she's been alone for four years and didn't have time to even _think_ about dating again until six months ago, and certain parts of her body have a particular interest in the situation she now faces. She's enough of a person to admit that to herself.)

\--------

The next time she calls him, it is early December and her furnace - after making progressively strange noises for the last couple weeks, which she'd assumed were just part of the house's "charm" - is dead, cause unknown. There's talk of snow overnight and Abby is smart enough not to trust that the insulation actually works as intended, and she's not sure what the solution is but begging another favor feels like a start.

"Do you have a fireplace?" he asks after she explains the situation.

"Not sure if that works either, but-"

"I'll be right over. It'll be okay."

Another twenty minutes, another stretch of time to wonder what he's atoning for and what he's running from, and then he's at her door with a strange mix of things in hand and all she cares about is that somehow she's convinced this man that she is worthy of his kindness. Right now she doesn't feel like it, but desperation is still a wonderful thing and-

"How long?"

"Might've died last night?" she shrugs. She's shivering, but she tries to hide it as best she can, tries not to make herself look like even more of a victim and-

"Here." He hands her a smallish square object with a cord attached. "Space heater. Hook it up in your bathroom and stay there for a bit. Furnaces are a bit beyond my range - I'll give you a number you can call in the morning but that's the best I can do - but fireplaces… I'm gonna try, okay?"

"I could stay out here and help?"

"Or you could go somewhere warm. You're not subtle, Abby."

She rolls her eyes. "Fine. Let me know what happens."

She ends up nesting in the bathroom for about half an hour, curling her body into a tiny ball and almost falling asleep by the time she hears a knock.

"Yeah?"

"Everything okay?"

She gets to her feet and opens the door, and while the rest of the house is still cold, it's not quite as bad as she expects. "I'm fine, Marcus. I wasn't in any danger when I called you, I promise."

"I know. I'm still allowed to worry."

He reaches for her hand and leads her out into the main space, where she observes that the fireplace does indeed work. She's not sure how _well_ , but it's something and she spins inward and hugs him because she's not sure about words right now either. Oh, this is definitely _something_.

"Now it's my turn to ask for a favor," he murmurs.

"Oh?"

"Look outside."

She breaks away from him for long enough to look out the window, and sure enough the white death is falling a couple hours earlier than anyone had predicted because of course it is. "And?"

"Normally I'd have no trouble driving in that, but… first real snow of the season, it's getting dark… you can say if it's too much to ask, but-"

"It's fine. I've got blankets, and I guess I'm sleeping out here anyways, and… I don't know if it's weird, but-"

"I don't mean to cross your lines."

"I'll tell you if you ever do," she counters. "Curling up with you because it's snowing and you're stuck here is the opposite of a problem. Trust me."

\--------

It's strange to be this close to someone, she thinks a couple of hours later. She feels fragile like she hasn't in years, and she wonders what about her is so compelling to him. There's got to be _something_ , but she doesn't dare ask. Doesn't dare say anything at all as she decides that his chest might be a better pillow than the couch cushion underneath her.

For now, she gets this sweetness. For now, she gets to nest with someone lovely and not fear where it might lead. She should enjoy it while she can.

\--------

"So what are we anyways?" she asks the next time Marcus comes 'round. It's two weeks later, and this time he came of his own free will and bearing a basket of homemade jams that he claims is a Christmas present for her. At this point, she's pretty sure nothing he does can surprise her anymore.

"Friends?" he suggests from the other side of her kitchen, but there's something in the way he's looking at her that implies he's not quite content with that one little word.

"I guess? I just… you're so wrapped up in me and sometimes I wonder if that's even good for you."

"More than you know," he replies, walking over and standing next to her. "I don't have a lot of people in my life. Mostly just my mother, and with the way her brain is fading… it's not always safe for me to be around her."

"What does she do?" Abby asks, suddenly very worried.

"She remembers my father differently than I do. Doesn't remember the bad things. Doesn't see the scars."

"I am so, so sorry."

"Been thirty years. Still get the nightmares."

"Still," she breathes. "You don't deserve that."

"I haven't always been as good a man as I've wanted to be, but… I'm not a monster. I've fought my bloodline and won."

She leans close and kisses his cheek, barely thinking until it's over with. "You're one of the good ones. I'm lucky to have you in my life."

"You're kind."

"No. I am in the midst of a midlife crisis and you… you're the one thing I haven't fucked up yet."

"As I said. Kind."

She's in no mood to fight him, but she reaches for his hand and says nothing at all for what feels like hours and wonders if maybe they're actually fixing each other.

\--------

In January, in the aftermath of a sparking electrical outlet, he gets stuck with her again because of snow and this time she takes him into her bed in as innocent a way as she can. It's more comfortable than the living room floor, she justifies, and their bodies entwine but there they draw the line. There will be time, so much time, to cross it later on.

In the morning, she thinks she could get very used to waking up with his body next to hers, his arm draped innocently around her waist and the soft smile on his lips as his eyes open and he takes her in. It feels like hope, and as much as she tries to force the thoughts away, it also feels a bit like love.

\--------

He kisses her in April, on the first real day of spring, on her front porch without any real buildup. One moment they're standing in silence and the next he's cupping her face in his hands and pressing his mouth to hers and it is _beautiful_.

"Was that okay?" he asks after, eyes locked on her.

"Yeah," she murmurs, resting her head on his shoulder for a moment. "Do it again?"

He does.


End file.
